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One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The whiskey burns my throat, harsh and bitter, a reminder of why I’ve never cared much for drinking. The amber liquid sits in my glass untouched now, swirled once, then abandoned, the ice melting into watery circles. The bar is one of the high-end places in the city, a sleek lounge where men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns move with practiced ease. The world hums around me, clinking glasses, muffled laughter, but I feel none of it.I sit at the far end, half-shadowed by the low golden light, trying to drown in the noise instead of the drink. It doesn’t work. My mind replays last night like it’s branded into me, frame by frame, sound by sound.Lyra’s silence is louder than any argument we could have had.The flashback comes unbidden.I drive her home after the fundraiser, the city lights passing in streaks of silver and gold through the tinted windows. My hand rests on the steering wheel, the other flexing uselessly against my thigh, wanting to reach for her but not dar
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The knock at the door doesn’t stop.I stand frozen in the middle of my small living room, the sound hammering against my skull like an impatient drumbeat. Estel sits curled on my couch, her face swollen from hours of crying, her hair a dark, messy halo around her shoulders. She sniffles, eyes darting to me as though waiting for me to decide whether we’re about to be invaded or ignored.“Maybe they’ll leave if you don’t answer,” she whispers, voice still hoarse.But I know better. The rhythm of the knocking is too steady, too insistent, and I already feel the weight of who it could be pressing against my chest. My legs move before my brain decides, and by the time I realize what I’m doing, my fingers are already gripping the door handle.The door swings open—and there he is.Christian.His suit jacket is gone, the white shirt beneath faintly creased, his tie loose around his neck. His hair is slightly disheveled like he’s run a hand through it too many times, and the sharp edge of his
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
I slam the door shut behind me, my heels clattering against the hardwood as I stumble into my apartment. My chest feels tight, as though someone has stuffed it with hot stones, and the air burns in my lungs with every shaky breath I take. I want—God, I want—to rip the whole evening out of my memory, shred it until nothing remains but silence. But no matter how many times I pace back and forth, no matter how hard I press my palms against my temples, the images flash back, relentless, cruel.The party. The lights. Christian’s hand around mine, warm and firm, the illusion of belonging. And then—her. The bitter ex-lover who stormed up to us like a hurricane, venom dripping from every word. I could almost handle her. Almost. What undoes me isn’t her accusation, isn’t her face that could have been mistaken for mine in another life—it’s Christian. The way he didn’t deny it when she hurled the word fiancé at him like a curse.He said nothing. No explanation, no rebuttal. Just silence.And in
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
I slam the door shut behind me, my heels clattering against the hardwood as I stumble into my apartment. My chest feels tight, as though someone has stuffed it with hot stones, and the air burns in my lungs with every shaky breath I take. I want—God, I want—to rip the whole evening out of my memory, shred it until nothing remains but silence. But no matter how many times I pace back and forth, no matter how hard I press my palms against my temples, the images flash back, relentless, cruel.The party. The lights. Christian’s hand around mine, warm and firm, the illusion of belonging. And then—her. The bitter ex-lover who stormed up to us like a hurricane, venom dripping from every word. I could almost handle her. Almost. What undoes me isn’t her accusation, isn’t her face that could have been mistaken for mine in another life—it’s Christian. The way he didn’t deny it when she hurled the word fiancé at him like a curse.He said nothing. No explanation, no rebuttal. Just silence.And in
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Unedited. Do not open.
The whiskey burns my throat, harsh and bitter, a reminder of why I’ve never cared much for drinking. The amber liquid sits in my glass untouched now, swirled once, then abandoned, the ice melting into watery circles. The bar is one of the high-end places in the city, a sleek lounge where men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns move with practiced ease. The world hums around me, clinking glasses, muffled laughter, but I feel none of it.I sit at the far end, half-shadowed by the low golden light, trying to drown in the noise instead of the drink. It doesn’t work. My mind replays last night like it’s branded into me, frame by frame, sound by sound.Lyra’s silence is louder than any argument we could have had.The flashback comes unbidden.I drive her home after the fundraiser, the city lights passing in streaks of silver and gold through the tinted windows. My hand rests on the steering wheel, the other flexing uselessly against my thigh, wanting to reach for her but not dar
One Night's Mistake: Claimed by my Boyfriend's Brother. Chapter 114: The Fundraiser 2.
Beautiful women are always trying to get the attention of powerful men.It's a tale as old as time and I know the same thing still happens today. Yet when I see this woman, something tells me she's never the one to ask for the attention of any man.She's beautiful enough that men would want to give her their attention like they owe it to her, and right now that woman has her eyes on Christian.All of a sudden I feel like I want to puke as I stare. Her dark hair spills in perfect waves down her back and shoulder, the volume incredibly thick and the sheen the same deep dark as obsidian.Her dress is a deep emerald that matches the bright green of her eyes. Eyes currently fixed on Christian, like she hopes she can intimidate him by staring at him like that.Christian sounds tired when he speaks, “Marissa.”The woman's lips curve, the action both a smile and an invitation as she rolls her eyes playfully,“Come on now. Don’t say my name like that. What do you want people to think?”Christi
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